


The Darkness Will Abide

by Rhialoviction



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 10x23, 11x01, AU, Bodyswap, Car Accident, Coda, Darkness, Don't worry, Episode 1, Episode 23, Gen, Ghost!Dean - Freeform, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt!Sam, Impala, M/M, Not Really Dead, Possible Character Death, Protective Dean Winchester, SPN - Freeform, Season 11, Slow Burn, Spirit!Dean, Suicidal Ideation, Tag, The Darkness - Freeform, body-swapping, breifly, crash, greif, hurt!Dean, not sure yet what the diff between coda and tag are, possible, season 10, supposed character death, that doesn't happen, whumpage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:45:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4434287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhialoviction/pseuds/Rhialoviction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s spirit was grieving alongside Sam. The only difference was that Sam would be forever haunted by his brother’s stolen face, while Dean would never see his brother’s face again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shroud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean killed Death.
> 
> The Darkness is free.
> 
> Maybe this is what happens next...

“DEAN—ngh!”

The jacket tears as Sammy’s hand is ripped away from Dean’s arm. His little brother flung though the darkness. The sound of shredding metal overpowers Dean's scream as he’s sucked backwards, away from Sam, into the deafening sound of complete silence.

* * *

Dean blinks.

He’s still. It feels like there’s dirt in his eye and everything’s still. Expect for the wind.

The hunter lifts his face off the ground, sputters a few hacking coughs, and takes in his new surroundings. He can only see about ten feet in any direction. Everything’s shrouded by the fog-like Darkness, which moves, swirls, and churns with malicious intent and pure chaos.

But everything else is still.

Dean can feel the powerful rush of wind whip across his cheek. His own clothes are rippling with the force, but the grass does not budge, does not twitch. The fallen leaves remain fallen, and the hair on the body does not move.

Dean's stomach plummets.

“Sammy!” He surges forward, slides on his knees and tries to keep breathing as he reaches for the motionless form.

“Sam! You stay with me you hear—” he grabs at the shoulders to roll over... himself,  "—me.  What the...”

He falters at the sight of his own motionless, paled eyes.

“Dean!” The voice in the distance is muffled, coming from where Dean thinks the Impala is…was. He stands up.

“Sammy?”

“Dean,” a relieved looking Sam appears through the shroud, an impossible grin spreads across his face. Dean finally exhales.  His brother looks uninjured.  Then Dean knits his eyebrows together. He tilts his head and gives an incredulous look to the body on the ground.  His body. Sam jogs to Dean’s side to see what’s perplexing his big brother.

“What the hell?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Is that… Are you…” Sam trails off as he stoops to set his palm on the-body-Dean’s face. He nearly falls over when his whole hand passes through the cheek, as if Sam were made of only air.

Dean helps Sam steady up to his feet. This is weird, even for them.  Hunter eyes leave the body, dart around searching for…

“There she is!”

Dean begins to sprint towards the Impala-shaped silhouette, but abruptly comes to a halt, hands at his sides as he stares at what was once at least half of his Baby. Sam catches up to him and nearly chokes when he catches sight of yet another limp body, _his own _body.__   The torso rests peacefully on the ground, free from the wreckage, but it’s tilted slightly upside down since its legs are stuck amidst the remaining half of the mangled Chevy. Blank eyes stare up at the darkened sky.

With a dreadful hunch, Dean crouches down close to try and gently shut the body-Sam’s eyelids. His fingertips pass right through the graying skin like smoke.

Before the trauma of the scene can fully seep in Dean springs back up, latches onto Sam’s shoulders, and spins his little brother to face away from the bloody Impala.

Looking into Sam’s wide eyes Dean attempts to keep his sanity because at this point he really needs to do a reality-check with Sam. He manages to get his voice working again. “Sammy, are you… I don’t…I mean…Do you think…”

It hits Sam then, just as Dean says it. “Are we dead?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First published Fic. FINALLY up to actually putting my work out there.
> 
> I have some more ideas for this au, which will stay in the within SPN realm.
> 
> Anyone interested in finding out what the fuck happens next? Or shall I stick to single-chapter fics?


	2. Coming Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Darkness has a cruel trick up its sleeve

Sam squeezes Dean’s elbows, unsure whether his big brother is in need of comfort or answers.  They lock terrified eyes before Sam tears away and runs back to Dean’s corporeal form.

"What are you doing?"

"I need to check something!"

He kneels beside Dean's body and tries to press two fingers to the neck to check for a pulse.  Again, it’s as if Sam is just made of air. 

Sam sits back on his heels and wracks his brain for an explanation.  Obviously his and Dean’s souls have been wrenched from their physical bodies via the power of the Darkness, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they are both dead now.  It could be like when he was soulless.  Not dead.  Just separated.

“Hey Sammy?”  Dean ambles his way up the grassy knoll, interrupting his little brother’s train of thought.  “Remember when we were in the hospital?” 

Sam raises a questioning eyebrow. 

“The one where dad...”

Yes, Sam remembers that place all too well.

“And I was being tailed by hot-reaper Tessa, but my body was comatose?  What if that's us now, and we just need to figure out how get back inside ourselves.”

Sam nods and hovers his hands over body-Dean’s chest.  Ever so slightly, he can see the rising and falling.  “Yeah, that’s what I'm thinking too.  Good news is you're right, we’re not dead.  See, you’re still breathing.”

Dean leans over to see and replies, “Bad news is we’re trapped in the veil.  Again.”

“How’d you get back last time?  Wait, actually do you remember the incantation Pamela used that one time we tried astral projecting?”

Dean’s gaze falls to his boots.  “No.  And I’m pretty sure I had nothing to do with getting back to my body at the hospital.  That was probably all Yellow-Eyes, and dad’s deal”

Sam looks at Dean’s boots as well.  “Oh. Right, yeah…”

“But there’s gotta be a way, man.  It's happened to us before.  Sort of.”  Dean tries to peer through the black shroud to see anything, the horizon, the rest of the impala.  Nothing.

Sam nods his head in agreement, but his mouth is scrunched to one side, giving away his uncertainly.  He huffs and starts thinking again. 

Dean stifles a chuckle as he watches his brother switch back into research-mode.  It looks as though Sam is reading something in his mind, eyes moving left to right, over and over again.  Those eyes go wide with excitement.

“Dean, what if—” suddenly the black smog picks up speed, cutting off Sam’s revelation with sharp gusts.  Forceful winds knock Sam forward, hands falling through body-Dean's chest to steady himself on the grass beneath.  The Darkness swirls between the brothers with a violent gale.  The last thing Sam sees is Dean reaching for him, silently shouting his name. Then everything turns to light and Sam hits the ground as if he's falling out of a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been over a year since I've updated this, but I finally have a whole new story planned out.
> 
> I would like to mention that I wrote the first chapter the summer before Season 11 came out, and I was pleasantly surprised with some similarities between my piece and 11x01, namely the boys being separated, Dean waking up in a field, Sam being able to locate him through his internal brother-compass.
> 
> When I wrote the first chapter, I had no idea where SPN was going to take the Darkness, and I certainly never thought it would be embodied by a woman, so I'm sticking with my original instincts about this big bad, and the Darkness will only be the smoggy swirling black clouds of fog.


	3. Intertwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys realize something is not quite right

Sam comes to with a desperate intake of air, trying to quench his burning lungs.  He gasps and pants and heaves until his breathing steadies and he can begin to calm himself down.

He’s on his back, one fist clutching his chest looking up at the pale blue sky.  A field.  He’s in a field. 

 _What’s the first thing you need to do when you wake up in an unfamiliar place_ – John’s voice echoes in Sam’s head.  Sam sits up with a grunt.  “Check for injuries,”  Sam winces and pulls his shirt collar to make sure his chest is intact.  It is.  He must have just gotten the wind knocked out of him by—

Sam whips his head around, looking in all directions for the Darkness.

There’s nothing but green pastures, a dilapidated building and some trees in the distance.  No Darkness. And no Dean, body or soul.

“Dean!” Sam yells and almost jumps out of his skin, because at the exact same time he calls out, hears Dean’s voice shout out, sounding close enough to be right behind him. 

Sam swivels around, grumbling “Dean, what the h—“ no one is behind him. 

The hunter takes in the empty space where his brother should have been while a black-hole starts to form in his gut.  Sam realizes he actually  _had_  heard his brother shouting just then, for a second time.  Except Dean's voice hadn’t been coming from Dean.  It was coming from Sam.

Sam swallows the lump in his throat and looks back down at his chest. 

He hadn’t noticed earlier, when he was checking for wounds, that he was now wearing Dean’s shirt.  And Dean’s jacket, and his pants, and his shoes.

He holds his hand up in front of his face. It's Dean's hand.

Sam's breathing kicks into high gear.  He knows he's working himself into a panic attack, yet still tries to scramble backwards, away from the foreign (albeit familiar) legs that should not belong to him. 

“Dean!”  Sam calls out again.  He nearly sobs as he cries out with his brother’s voice.

—  —  —

Dean comes to shortly before Sam does.  He is able to stand up and take in his surroundings.  The hunter shudders as he remembers watching the Darkness swallow up his little brother. 

Now it looks like the Darkness is long gone, and his brother nowhere to be found.  

Dean runs both hands through his hair.  He's turning in circles, searching, but sees only the vast fields and his own still body lying on the ground. 

The scene then shifts.  

Dean feels his world start to tilt as he watches his supposedly soulless body start to move.  It sits up all on its own, calls out his own name, and then tries to run away from its own feet.  

Dean realizes what must have happened when the animated body turns around and looks straight through him.

“Well, shit.”

—  —  —

Sam doesn’t hear the expletive as he forces himself to his ( _Dean's_ ) feet and stumbles his way towards the wreckage of the impala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please point out anything confusing, odd wordings, grammar mistakes.
> 
> I'll do my best to edit.


	4. Over Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean could do nothing but watch his little brother grieve as the months went by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please notice the updated tags & rating. This story is now rated Mature and apparently it will eventually lead to wincest, so if you would like to get off the boat, now is your opportunity.
> 
> Also, I hate tenses.

Sam ran as fast as he could across the field.

If Sam was in Dean’s body, then The Darkness must have also put Dean's spirit into Sam’s body, which was lying mangled and possibly bleeding out.

Sam ran faster.

—  —  —

Dean followed his little brother to the remains of Baby. 

Sam slid to a halt next to his own broken body and tried checking for a pulse, this time using Dean’s physical fingers.  It was there, barely a flutter against the paling skin.  Sam held back a wave of nausea, trying not to look at the bloody mess of his own body’s legs intertwined with shredded metal.

“Come on Dean, it’s gona be okay.  You’re gona be fine.  Stay with me,” Sam said running fingers through the long hair, head cradled in his lap.

—  —  —

 “I’m not going anywhere, Sam.  Promise.” 

Dean’s words couldn’t reach Sam’s ears through the veil, but saying them still calmed Dean down.  He knelt next to the scene and gathered his courage.  Looking at the carnage, it would hurt royally when Dean jumped into Sam’s broken body.

He opened his hand and pressed the palm into body-Sam’s faltering chest, expecting to be sucked in, just as Sam’s spirit had been earlier.

—  —  —

Dean could do nothing but watch his little brother grieve as the months went by.

He had tried so hard to jump into Sam’s broken form, but the body was too damaged to survive.  It flat-lined on the way to the hospital, and Dean could do nothing but watch his little brother crumble, body and soul, in the ambulance speeding down the highway.

It was wrong, having to helplessly stand by as his little brother’s body died, knowing that Sam must have thought Dean’s spirit died along with it.  It was wrong that Sam had to witness such a gruesome end to his own body.  Even more so, it was wrong that Sam had to grieve for Dean with Dean’s own tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might go back and rewrite the first three chapters in past tense, but that would change a lot of wordings. I might also change back to present tense in the future.
> 
> You can sue me if it bothers you.


	5. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at the bunker...

Sam bent over the sink to splash water on his face.  He toweled himself dry and straightened up to look into the mirror.

Green eyes.

Dean had the deepest, emerald eyes.

Mirrors had become both a torture and a blessing for Sam.  On the one hand, he had to look at his dead brother’s face each time he saw his own reflection.  On the other hand, he still got to see Dean’s face, even though his big brother was gone.  Hear his voice.  Feel his touch.  Too often Sam found his arms wrapped tightly around himself in an attempt to feel Dean’s comforting embrace.

Taking over Dean’s body had also given Sam a sense of responsibility.  He took care of himself every day, kept clean, showered, ate proper meals.  He even worked-out regularly, which Dean wouldn’t have liked so much, but Sam couldn’t not take care of the last surviving piece of Dean.

Having ownership of Dean’s body was also a curse.

As much as he wanted to, Sam couldn’t justify killing himself, since doing so would also kill Dean’s body.  He didn’t have the right to commit suicide anymore.  In a way, it wasn’t just his life to take.

So Sam stayed inside the bunker most days.  Reading through the Men of Letters’ library, looking for cases. 

Eventually he covered up the mirrors.

—  —  —

Dean paced back and forth down one of the bunker hallways.

It had been three days since Sam had finally buried the body. 

Sam’s body. 

Buried.  Not burned.

At first Dean didn’t understand why Sam hadn’t built a hunter’s pyre.  It’s what they’d always counted on, so neither of them would go vengeful should the unthinkable occasion arise. 

Then again, in this situation Sam would be burning his own bones.  Probably not the best of ideas.  The more Dean thought about it, the more he wasn’t entirely certain that he _would_ go vengeful.  Since his body was still alive, the normal ghost rules might not apply to his spirit.

After watching Sam fail week after week to find a way to bring his brother back, Dean eventually stopped worrying about the unburnt bones.

He was more worried about Sam’s emotional state.

Dean saw the circles under the emerald eyes, red spots dotting the eyelids from burst veins.  Living in Dean’s body was taking a heavy toll on Sam’s wellbeing.  Dean was feeling the loss as well.  He had broken down the day Sam’s body was buried.  On his knees beside the grave, keening for the ears of no one as Sam shoveled in the dirt.

He missed Sam.

Sure, Sam was there in the bunker, alive, breathing, walking about in a Samly way, doing Sammy-like things.  But he didn’t look like Sam.  He looked like Dean.

Dean’s spirit was grieving alongside Sam.  The only difference was that Sam wold be forever haunted by his brother’s stolen face, while Dean would never see his brother’s face again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come :)
> 
> I'm so proud of myself for finally writing this!
> 
> Anyone else invested yet?


	6. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries his hand at a spell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wincest of sorts will be next chapter

“Dammit!”

The bronze-cast bowl fell through Dean’s phantom fingers, scattering the contents of the spell across the library floor. The clatter echoed through the bunker.

Dean looked around to see if the noise had called Sam in, but as usual his solemn brother was nowhere to be found. 

—  —  —

Sam shut his laptop.

His eyes glazed over as he thought about the triplets that had sacrificed their souls to defeat the Darkness. Through the grapevine he had often heard about the hunting trio of brothers, and how they were some of the best in Canada.

Of course Sam had tried to track the Darkness himself, but after the trail went cold in British Columbia, he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore. Hell, he could hardly continue his own search for a way to bring Dean back.

It seemed like Sam had a hard time caring for much of anything lately.

The tired hunter scratched his fingers across the growing stubble beard.

Time for a shave.

—  —  —

Dean knelt down and concentrated hard on manifesting his hands so that he could start scooping the ashes and bell-spice back into the bowl. Over the past few months Dean had been practicing his Swayze-skills. Some flickering lights here, scooting a chair over there. He’d even managed to knock the lamp off of Sam’s nightstand; however, none of these ghostly antics had managed to get Sam’s attention. At most, Sam had given the broken lamp a longing-filled stare before he begrudgingly cleaned up the pieces.

Dean cupped his hands with intense focus and guided the last of the fallen elements into the ancient Tibetan bowl. He then picked it up carefully and set it on the table.

Gathering and preparing the spell’s ingredients had been the hardest part.

Now all that was left was the incantation.

Dean was actually quite surprised that his disruption of the library’s filing system had gone unnoticed by his studious brother.

After weeks of practice Dean had graduated from moving coins to flipping through the pages of archaic books. He’d used his newfound abilities to browse the bunker’s library in search of something that could help his brother. Despite Sam’s apparent rekindled passion for health and fitness, Dean could tell his brother was still suffering immensely. Ignored grief has a way of lingering on.

Dean may have been dead, but he wasn’t blind. Stoic Sammy didn’t need to voice his pain for Dean to know it was there.

With any luck, if this spellbook proved legitimate, perhaps Dean could alleviate both of their pains.

The incantation was revelation-based, with the end goal being to reveal one’s true face. If the spell worked properly, then Sam should theoretically appear to look like himself again, not like Sam-wearing-his-dead-brother’s-body. Of course it would only be an apparition, illusion work. But still, better than no fix at all.

Dean smiled to himself.

He had to admit he was looking forward to seeing his little brother’s dimples again. That, and it had honestly been unnerving every time Dean had caught sight of his own visage moving about the bunker autonomously. Once he’d rounded a corner too fast only to freeze in shock and scream bloody murder upon coming nose-to-nose with his own oblivious face. Unfortunately, Sam had walked straight through him that day. Afterwards it had taken more than a week for Dean to de-thaw his spirit-form.

The hunter shuddered at the memory, then got back to work.

Holding his hands above the bowl Dean directed all of his energy into sparking a fire.

He gave a shout of triumph when the sandalwood started to burn. Pyrokinesis. One of the best perks of being a ghost.

As Dean read the magic words the library lights began to flicker. A breeze stirred up in the room, and as he uttered the final phrase the bronze bowl erupted in flame.

Quicker than it has sprung up, the fire-ball vanished.

Then there was silence.

When the smoke cleared, months of build-up had Dean running through the bunker to find his brother.

Dean still found passing through walls to be an unsettling experience, so instead he sped through the hallways until he reached Sam’s bedroom door.

“Crap.”

It was shut.

—  —  —

Sam rinsed off the razor, toweled his face dry, and ran a hand over Dean's smooth chin. He'd thought he would never get used to wearing his brother's skin, but as time went on Sam had grown accustomed to, even fond of bearing the familiar features.

Perhaps it was time to uncover the mirrors.

—  —  —

Dean took a breath and forced himself to relax. He closed his eyes and let himself melt through the wooden panel. Once he was on the other side, in Sam’s room, he kept his eyes shut, afraid to see if the spell had worked. He could hear water running. The sink. Sam must be in his bathroom. Dean grinned and used his ghost-telekinesis to remove the fabric cover from the mirror above Sam’s sink.

“What the…?” Sam said. Then he gasped.

Dean froze.

Sam gasped.

 _Sam_ had gasped.

That was _Sam’s_ voice. His Sammy. The spell had-

Dean opened his eyes. He was immediately overwhelmed by a crushing weight of despair upon seeing that Sam still looked just like Dean. The spell had failed.

But then, why had Sam sounded like Sam?

Dean approached the bathroom threshold to take a closer look. Ethereal tears sprung to his eyes when he saw that Sam’s true face was reflected in the bathroom mirror. Similar tears slid down his little brother’s cheek as the younger hunter stared at himself, at his true self, in wonderment, and perhaps a bit of sorrow.

“Sammy,” Dean sighed in relief. He moved in closer, to stand behind his brother’s shoulder and get a better view. It had been too long since he’d seen those hazel eyes.

“Dean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell you how long I've been meaning to write this. And there's more, too. And it's 12:13 am and I need to work tomorrow. Love you all :)


	7. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spell reveals something unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I lied, no wincest yet...this really is turning out to be a slow burn...

Sam consumed the image in front of him, not blinking for fear it would vanish.

When he first saw his old reflection staring back at him Sam thought he’d finally gone crazy. His mind must have gone off the deep end trying to reconcile the mismatched body and soul.

And if this was real...

Sam felt a tear slip down his cheek. For a moment he mourned the loss of his brother’s visage. The occasional glimpses of the familiar face had been a comforting curse.

Then Dean appeared.

Over Sam’s shoulder,  _Sam’s_   _own shoulder_ , he walked into the frame without a sound, classic Dean grin spread across his face.

“Dean?”

They locked eyes through the mirror, each as surprised and confused as the other.

Sam whipped his head around to see-

Nothing.

The doorway was empty.

The mirror had lied.

He turned back to the reflection and there was his own face again. Still there. And also Dean, now with a touch of concern highlighting his features.

Sam felt his chest tighten as he started to hyperventilate, tears now falling freely.

He watched through the looking glass as Dean took a step forwards, mouth forming a silent “Sammy?”  The younger brother fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands.

“This isn’t happening,” Sam managed between silent sobs. “You…you can’t be here. You’re… gone. N-none of this is r-real. ”

It sounded real though. It had been ages since Sam had heard his own voice, let alone used it. But there it was, back in his own possession. Sam took several heaving breaths and braced himself. He had to open his eyes, had to see that Dean was not really there. He couldn’t do this anymore if there was still hope. The hopelessness of the situation was the only thing keeping him sane.

After what seemed like an eternity of panic, Sam took one more shuddering breath to calm down, then lowered his hands into his lap. Dean’s lap. He could feel that he still had Dean’s body, despite his own voice having returned. Sam let out a final choked off sob at that thought. He had already lost so much, now he had to lose his brother’s soothing voice as well?

Sam gave himself a heartbeat more, then he opened his eyes.

Before he could turn around, Sam's mind registered that a familiar hand had placed its comforting grip on his shoulder.

—  —  —

Dean watched his little brother crumble at his touch, falling all the way to the floor.

“Sammy, come on man. It’s okay, it’s just me.”

The words did nothing to assuage the young Winchester’s pain.

At a loss Dean focused more of his energy to flow into his hands. He knelt beside Sam and started rubbing gentle circles across his brother’s back. That only seemed to aggravate Sam’s grief.

“Please, Sam.  I’m sorry, I don’t…what do you n…what can I say to make this better…” Dean trailed off. Sam kept shaking, forehead pressed to the ground. Dean realized Sam probably couldn’t hear him. He also wasn’t entirely sure if his brother couldn't see him, either. It definitely seemed like Sam had only able to see Dean through the mirror--How was that even possible?--and so now their only point of contact was Dean’s hand on his back.

God, Sammy must think he’s going crazy.

Dean cleared his throat and tried to send all of his attention to his vocal chords.

“Sammy.”

The snivels paused.

Dean tried again. “Sammy, can you hear me?”  He gave Sam’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Sam let out a yelp and scrambled across the bathroom floor to get away.  He backed against the corner where the wall met the shower, shivering, wide eyes darting all around. “No, no, no…”

Dean sighed.

He sat down cross-legged in front of Sam.  After several minutes of intense focus he felt his diaphragm and neck manifest enough to produce sound, although he was probably still invisible.

“Sammy, it’s okay.”

Sam stared dead ahead, looking straight through Dean.

“You can’t see me, but I need you to know I’m here. I’m really here Sammy, I never left.”

Sam brought his fist up to cover his mouth. He nodded slightly. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dean let the meditation fall away, exhausted.

Sam closed his eyes, still nodding.

Dean moved to sit beside his little brother and took the chance to place a hand lightly on Sam’s elbow. Hands were the easiest to manifest for Dean.

Eyes still closed, Sam reached over and clasped his hand own on top of Dean’s, squeezing it so hard it almost hurt. The brother’s stayed that way, clinging to each other for hours until the concentration drained Dean’s energy, and so his presence faded away, consciousness turning into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote two chapters in three days! *does happy dance*
> 
> How'm I doin? *patiently waits for feedback...*


	8. Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys deal with the aftermath of the botched spell...

With a groan, Dean awoke to find himself alone on the bathroom floor.  Alone.

“Sam…”

He got up to his feet too quickly.  Who knew ghosts could get lightheaded. Or have migraines like this.

Dean shuffled out the door, rubbing at his tired eyes. He did a double take when he passed in front of the mirror, nearly missing his own reflection.

“Right…weird.”

As Dean walked through the bunker, checking everywhere for Sam, he noticed that the reflective surfaces in every room had been uncovered. It also seemed like Sam had raided the local Home Stores, because various new mirrors lined all of the walls, some hung up, some duct-taped, most merely propped up.

Dean smiled.

As he walked into the library he finally caught sight of his little brother. He almost thought it was another mirror until he remembered that the spell had only returned Sam’s reflection and voice, that otherwise he still had his big brother’s body.

Something was wrong though.

Sam was pacing to and fro, eyebrows furrowed, hands slightly jittery.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said, walking up to his brother.

At the last moment he threw himself to the side, barely dodging another mishap of being frozen again via getting walked through by his little brother.

“Sammy! What the hell?”

No response.

Clearly sound wasn’t getting through right now. Nor sight.

Dean looked around, but saw no mirrors in the library.

“Screw it.”

Dean moved to stand in the middle of Sam’s path and held a stiff arm out straight, palm open and ready to intercept.

“Oof,” Sam huffed as he was halted by thin air. He staggered back a few steps, confused, then realized what must have happened. 

“…Dean?”

“Yes,” Dean said with a relieved exhale.

“Dean?”

Sam sounded more frantic. He still couldn’t hear him. Dammit. Dean had to think of something quick or this was heading towards another panic attack. To his surprise, Sam beat him to the punch.

“S-stay here…okay?” Sam was looking all around the room, hands held out in placation as he slowly backed away.

“Okay…” Dean blinked and Sam was running out of the room.

Dean waited.

A few seconds later Sam returned, eyes glassy, with a small mirror in hand. After a brief hesitation, Sam held the mirror up and used it to survey room. He jolted when the angle captured both Dean and his own face.

“Oh my god,” Sam gaped as his hazel met with Dean’s forest green.

“Hiya Sammy.” Dean sauntered closer. He reached out and took hold of Sam’s shoulder once again, then immediately let go to dive down and catch the mirror before it hit the ground.

Dean carefully lowered it the rest of the way to the floor, then slowly stood back up to take Sam’s hand in his own.

Sam flinched, unable to see his brother without the mirror’s aid. Nevertheless, he let himself be led by the invisible Dean over to the table, and gladly accepted the seat when a chair was scooted out for him. Sam continued to stare, mouth still slightly open as his laptop floated over and landed near him on the table. The chair beside him slid out a bit. He assumed Dean had claimed it.

The laptop’s screen opened, and Sam watched as its keyboard started to tap out words in a blank document, much like a player-piano spinning its melody with the unseen musician.

_Heya, Sam. It’s Dean. Can you hear me at all?_

Sam chocked on his own spit. He leaned forward to type a response when the ghost hands shoved his own aside.

_I can hear you, dumbass._

“Oh, yeah. Right.”  Sam cleared his throat. “No. I mean yes, I heard you once, in the b- in the bathroom. But…that was three days ago, man.  Where’ve you been? I’ve been going crazy tryin’ to find you.”

_I noticed._

Sam glanced at the mirror on the floor, then resumed watching the screen intently.

_You went a bit overboard, dude._

Sam smiled. “I know.”

_Three days ago?_

“Yeah. I almost thought it was all a dream, but I could still see…me. In my reflection, I’m myself, but really I’m still you. Dean, what the hell is going on? What did the darkness do? You’re supposed to be dead. I saw you die. And I summoned you, I tried everything, but you never came back. Why now? How-”

_Slow down, dude. Like I said, never left. Also, my body still being alive probably negates a lot of the necromancy rituals. Don’t ya think?_

Sam bit his lip. Dean could see his little brother was on the verge of crumbling again, so he kept writing.

_And you didn’t watch me die. I never was able to jump into your skin, tried like hell though. So you gotta let that go man._

Dean paused, fingers poised over the keys.

Sam waited for more.

_About the mirrors…I did this spell, tried to get you your body back, but I guess I must’ve read the fine-print wrong._

“A spell?”

Dean nodded, then face-palmed.

_Yes._

“Can you show me?”

Dean found the book and flipped to the page.

Sam gazed at the spellwork, mouthing the incantation as he read. “…et ehue, sumus revelate in verum forma.” Sam looked up from the ancient text, lost in thought.

After a while Dean grew impatient.

_Meaning???_

“Seriously? Dean, you did a spell without knowing it’s translation?”

Dean folded his hands and refused to answer.

“Fine. Okay, the last verse says ‘and alas, we are revealed in true form.’”

_Yeah, but it didn’t do what it was supposed to do. You’re still stuck looking like me. And it never said anything about being restricted to mirrors._

“Dude, it says ‘speculo’ right there!” Sam pointed to the word on the page.

_Oh. Oops. I thought that meant ‘I speculate’…_

Sam chuckled. “Dude, you need to brush up on your Latin.”

_Well, it is a Dead Language. You’d think I’d be a natural by now._

Sam threw his head back and laughed. Dean just sat back and watched. He hadn’t heard such a joyful of noise coming from his brother in too long of a time. With any hope and a bit of practice, he'd be able to give Sam the same gift. Perhaps soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an ending in mind...and I really like where it's going...
> 
> Only a few chapters left, so comment while you can :)


End file.
